


Dirty Work

by Adry1412



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Americana aesthetic, Domestic Violence, Extramarital Affairs, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Philip and Daryl in a bad marriage, Rick to the Rescue, bottom!daryl, gardener!rick, mobster!philip, top!rick, trophy husband!daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6461605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adry1412/pseuds/Adry1412
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off the song "Dirty Work" by Steely Dan. Daryl is unhappily married to a rich mobster, Philip Blake. Rick is his gardener and his savior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Work

**Author's Note:**

> I'll always be nervous posting anything. Please be nice guys!! I hope you like it! Please comment and let me know if you liked this!! Thank you and I love you all!!!

"Don't stare at Mr. Blake's eyepatch."  
Rick doesn't, focuses on the large garden before him. The grass is trimmed, bushes hedged, flowers planted in perfect symmetry. Sunset streaking the yard in an orange glow, colors warping and shadows hardly showing, all dimmed and dipped in light.  
The pool splashes in little waves, the brightest, clearest blue Rick has ever seen. Not a speck of dirt at the bottom, the surface reflecting the dusk on top of the little waves.  
"Don't stare at Mr. Blake's eyepatch."  
He doesn't. But God, it isn't Mr. Blake he's staring at. It's the radiant man who Mr. Blake has chosen as a husband. He's stretched out on a lawn chair, large round sunglasses and sun hat almost hiding his features except for his small mouth, seemingly in a constant pout.  
Long legs, one bent upwards pulling the long thin black shirt up his thighs in a sinful display that has Rick's mouth watering. He watches as Shane, his friend who helped get him the job for the notorious mobster, approaches the man, bringing him another drink, sweating in the evening heat, and he has to look away.  
\---  
It's hot, his shirt sticking to his back as he digs the shovel deep into the ground. His head pops up when he hears the back door opens, watches as Mr. Blake's husband, Daryl he heard Shane call him, walks out with nothing but swim trunks and a towel on his shoulder, pulling his sunglasses off. Shane is not far behind him, standing by the chair and holding the towel Daryl had tossed to the side.  
A lap from deep to shallow water and back and he's stepping out and into the towel Shane is holding open, water dripping off. Rick's mouth is dry and Shane shoots him a warning glare. He looks away, digging into the ground and focusing all his pent up energies on the small tree he's to plant.  
\---  
Its another month before Rick is standing, hands covered in dirt, staring at the man of his fantasies. He's wrapped in a silky blue tunic, long legs on display for the world to see, sipping on some mixed drink decorated with a small umbrella.  
He's standing in the doorway, light spilling out from behind him and into the dark yard, leaning carelessly and staring at Rick with those eyes, so blue they put the underused pool to shame. He doesn't say anything, he had called the gardener over and was simply looking at him, eyes roaming his sweaty body unapologetically. He smirks and takes another sip, turning away from him and shutting the door. Rick is left with there, butterflies swarming in his stomach and mind spinning.  
\---  
The game goes on for a few months, Daryl getting Rick's attention only to stare at him until Rick is red in the face, palms sweaty, then he'll simply leaves, sometimes giggling sometimes nothing. Other times he asks Rick for "favors", for sunscreen on his back or more ice for his drink, even if Shane is next to him. Shane is meant to do these things, he's a personal assistant of sorts, hired by Philip to protect his husband. Rick doesn't know what going on but he can't deny the intense pull between them. He feels the intense glances Daryl shoots him and the sugar sweet sound of his voice when he sings for Rick to stop digging and come here.  
\---  
"Stay away from Mr. Blake's husband."  
Put Rick is stuck, frozen on his feet when the breathtaking man calls his name. Shane warns him, time and time again but he can't help the excitement pooling in his lower stomach when those baby blues stare at him over his sunglasses and that pink tongue swirls around his straw with a dangerously sensual flick. He smirks but doesn't turn back inside. No one is home today, Philip off to Boston for... business and Shane at home, evening off. And the pale hand gripping his shirt, pulling him inside is too much for Rick to resist.

He lights the candles next to the large, plush bed and Rick locks the door. It's sinful how Daryl stretches, on the bed, held up by soft elbows. One finger curling towards himself, telling Rick with his slender hands what his eyes have been screaming. Legs spread further, nothing under the long shirt acting as a night gown, and Rick has to swallow the lump blocking his breathing.  
It's dangerous, the lips on his neck and hands exploring his broad back. It's insane, the shirt being lifted and dirty hands smearing on milky skin. It's the worst idea Rick has ever had, to watch the man open himself and moan loudly with a fire behind his eyes that Rick is sure he's only ever seen pointed at him. He has to stop, pulling off of the embodiment of taboo beauty.  
It's fast, too fast and the man is a mess under him. Thin fingers scratching at Rick's back and shoulder, lustful noises falling from perfect lips that he can't help but kiss and push his tongue past. It doesn't end, the noises swallowed and legs pulling Rick closer, deeper, shame and fear pooling in his groin along with the telltale signs of his orgasm. The man wants it harder, faster, screaming at Rick and begging for the bed to break. And then it's over.  
The man smokes, shirt lopsided and hair in every direction as Rick redressed, trying desperately to flatten his messy curls. He holds Rick's shirt and kisses him before pushing him towards the door.  
\---  
Rick had only seen Philip a handful of times. A tall, handsome man with his remaining eye constantly focused on Daryl. He watches as they sit together, a hushed argument contrasting the peaceful blend of colors in the late afternoon skies. Daryl grips his drink with shaky hands, eyes staring elsewhere, and listens as his husband points a hard finger at him. All Rick feels is the fury in his gut and cheeks burn when Philip grabs his husbands arm, hard enough to bruise and spill his drink, dragging him inside and slamming the door shut.  
It should be the end of Rick's interest, he isn't paid to care about Daryl or even be interested in the couples affairs, but he is. He's attached to the man with sleepy eyes and long legs. He takes deep breaths and tries to calm himself, knowing that Philip will leave again soon and Daryl will be standing at the door, thin lips pulled up into vicious smirk.  
\---  
He hates himself for the falling feeling in his chest. When the bedroom curtains are shut, Shane heading to his car waving a warning in Rick's direction, and Daryl coming to the back door, feet stumbling in his inebriated state, with that glass over his bruised eyes. He hates the way Daryl rolls on the bed, legs falling apart and a million different pleads cutting the silence in the candlelit room. He hates the dread in his veins when he hears a noise or when Philip comes home. He hates the way his body reacts and the draw his heart feels, Icarus drawn to the sun only to melt his wings and fall again.  
When Daryl is satisfied, Rick leaves.  
He's a fool and he knows it. He heads home every night only to come back the next day and play Daryl's game again. He's thought about stopping it, he's mentioned it to the intoxicating man, only to see anger and pain boiling in his eyes. He's feeding the beast by staying, he's allowing Daryl to destroy himself, drink after drink, sex after sex. He didn't expect the slap when he attempted to refuse the man's advances, nor the breathtaking kiss.  
He never brought it up again. Just did his work on the yard, planting and tending to the flowers that have made Daryl smile brightly when he sniffed them. He continued to warm Daryl's bed on the nights Philip wasn't home and leave quietly when they were done or Daryl's drinks took their tolls.  
\---  
The plan isn't ideal, hell, it ain't even a plan at all! But here Rick was, helping Daryl shove as much clothes in his bag as the man rambled on and on about Mexico and witness protection services and who knows what else. He's filled his glass with as much bourbon as the small thing would take and he's chugging it, downing it in only a few gulps. His hands are shaking as he pours more before Rick takes the bottle and forces the glass down.  
Dark bruises on Daryl's face, even darker on his neck and he's been shaking since Philip left that morning. The man had swore and hurt Daryl, trying his hardest to find out who slept in Daryl's bed on nights he was gone. Rick shuddered but kept it together enough to wipe his lovers tears. They kiss once before Daryl is rushing out the room and back in.  
He's holding money, a lot of it, and shoving it into his bag along side a bottle of liquor and a pistol, Rick taking the other and slipping it into the back of his jeans. He thinks about the flowers, who will tend to them and will Shane be okay. He doesn't second guess Daryl's decision to leave, never doubting that this is the best option for both of them, his only regret being not being able to make Philips face match Daryl's. But the man is powerful and incredibly dangerous, a tiger crouching and waiting for the perfect chance to pounce.  
\---  
So they leave. The maid is turned away at the door, a note left for Shane, thanking him for his service and money left for him to quit, and Rick's car's tires leaving marks in the long driveway. Daryl takes sip of the bottle, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, only a few tears slipping out from under them.  
But Rick holds his hand, whispers of a better future slipping from his mouth and Daryl smiles. Not the dangerous smirk that would send shivers down Rick's spine, but a real one. It's a little shaky but Rick will be damned if it didn't put the orange dessert sky to shame as they drove towards the country's boarder and towards that sun, this time with wings that wouldn't melt.


End file.
